Aarav stood in the visitors' room for a full ten minutes after Nikhil had left.
The flower behind his ear felt like a bizarre, fragrant weight. One hand lifted almost absentmindedly, brushing against the petals as though his brain still hadn't quite accepted that this had actually happened. Maybe if he touched it enough times, reality would correct itself and reveal this entire interaction to be a stress-induced hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and second-year MBBS.
Unfortunately, reality remained stubbornly real.
He pulled the flower from his hair and stared at it.
The thing looked innocent enough. Small. Pink. Completely harmless.
Which was irritating, because nothing associated with Nikhil Goyal had ever been harmless a day in his life.
Aarav examined it like it was evidence from a crime scene. In a way, it was. A crime had absolutely been committed tonight. Several, actually. He just wasn't entirely sure which sections of the penal code they fell under.
Then he closed his fist around it and started walking back to the hostel.
The trip upstairs passed in a blur. He vaguely remembered opening doors. Vaguely remembered climbing stairs. At one point, he was fairly certain somebody said hello to him. If they had, he hadn't registered it. His brain was currently occupied by a far more pressing issue.
Namely, what the actual hell had just happened?
By the time he reached his room, Karan was still awake.
Which, in hindsight, wasn't surprising.
Karan had spent months treating the ongoing disaster between Aarav and Nikhil like it was a television series. Of course he would've stayed up to witness the aftermath of whatever fresh catastrophe Nikhil had unleashed upon society.
The curiosity died the moment Aarav walked through the door.
Karan took one look at his face and visibly reconsidered every life choice that had brought him to this moment.
There were many expressions Karan associated with Aarav. Annoyed. Judgmental. Smug. Exasperated. Furious.
This wasn't any of those.
This looked like someone had personally walked up to Aarav and informed him gravity would no longer be functioning from tomorrow onwards.
Wisely, Karan said nothing.
Aarav sat down on his bed.
The words replayed immediately.
I like you. Romantically.
His grip tightened around the flower.
The sentence somehow made exactly as little sense as it had ten minutes ago.
It didn't fit.
Not the situation.
Not Nikhil.
Not him.
Not the way the world was supposed to work.
Then again, Nikhil had never fit into any category Aarav tried putting him into. The man seemed to possess a supernatural ability to look at every neatly organized box in existence and immediately kick it down a flight of stairs.
Aarav leaned forward, pressing his elbows against his knees.
The discomfort sitting in his chest wasn't exactly disgust.
That would've been simpler.
He had never spent much time thinking about things like this. Other people could do whatever they wanted. It wasn't his business. He had no interest in policing anyone else's life choices.
But this wasn't other people anymore.
This was him.
And that changed things.
Not because he hated the idea. Not because he thought there was something morally wrong with it. The feeling was harder to explain than that. It felt wrong in the same way suddenly finding yourself in unfamiliar territory felt wrong. Like stepping onto a staircase and missing a step that should've been there.
His entire life, there had been certain assumptions.
Certain expectations.
Certain unspoken rules.
Not rules he consciously thought about, but rules that had always existed in the background.
And Nikhil had just picked up those rules, set them on fire, and handed the burning remains to him with a bouquet of stolen flowers.
The more he thought about it, the more restless he became.
Then, unfortunately, his brain committed the fatal mistake of remembering who had confessed to him.
Not some random guy.
Not some stranger.
Nikhil.
Of course it was Nikhil.
Who else could possibly turn a confession into psychological warfare?
The irritation arrived first.
Then the offense.
Then the anger.
Because the more Aarav thought about it, the less believable the entire thing became.
Nikhil wasn't serious about anything.
That alone should've been enough evidence.
This was the same person who treated rules like personal suggestions. The same person who woke up every morning and apparently asked himself what fresh problem he could become today. The same person who had spent months making Aarav's existence significantly more stressful purely because he found the reactions entertaining.
And now he was supposed to believe this?
Please.
The confession was probably another game.
It had to be.
Maybe it was an elaborate joke.
Maybe it was some advanced form of psychological warfare.
Maybe it was meant to embarrass him.
Humiliate him.
Mock him.
The flowers certainly weren't helping the case.
Flowers.
Actual flowers.
Who even did that?
The gesture was so aggressively romantic that it immediately became suspicious.
Aarav looked down at the crushed petals in his hand.
Another possibility occurred to him, and somehow he hated it even more.
Maybe this was mockery of a different kind.
Maybe Nikhil was making fun of him.
His appearance.
His height.
His face.
The fact that he'd spent his entire life hearing words like pretty more often than handsome and had hated every single instance of it.
The thought sent a fresh wave of anger through him.
Yes.
That made sense.
That made far more sense than the alternative.
Because the alternative was that Nikhil had actually meant it.
That the sincerity in his voice had been real.
That the flowers hadn't been a joke.
That the idiot genuinely liked him.
Aarav dismissed the possibility immediately.
Firmly.
Violently.
Without even giving it room to breathe.
Absolutely not.
There was no universe in which Nikhil Goyal looked at him and thought—
No.
The very idea was ridiculous.
By now, the confusion had begun hardening into something far more familiar.
Anger.
Good.
Anger, at least, made sense.
Anger didn't require self-reflection. Anger didn't force him to unpack uncomfortable feelings at two in the morning. Anger came with a target, and Nikhil had very helpfully volunteered himself.
The stunned confusion slowly vanished, replaced by a scowl so venomous it probably violated several international treaties.
This was another game.
It had always been a game.
And Aarav wasn't going to play.
He would ignore the confession.
Ignore the flowers.
Ignore the smile.
Ignore the stupidly sincere voice.
Ignore Nikhil Goyal entirely.
Which would've been a much more convincing plan if Nikhil hadn't already occupied approximately ninety percent of his thoughts for the last half hour.
AN: Theory papers are finally over! Aghhh this was so stressful. Only practicals left to go~